


In Out of the Cold

by beautifullyheeled



Category: Ranma 1/2, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Catlock, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Anime, M/M, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Post-Reichenbach, ranma 1/2 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2126685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a training journey in the Bayankala Mountain Range in the Qinghai Province of China, Sherlock Holmes fell into the cursed springs at Jusenkyo. When someone falls into a cursed spring, they take the physical form of whatever drowned there hundreds or thousands of years ago whenever they come into contact with cold water. As cursed pools go, it could have been much worse he supposed.</p><p>Sherlock takes a dip in a pool and comes up a changed man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asktheconsultingblogger](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=asktheconsultingblogger).



> This is an Exchangelock prompt fill for Asktheconsultingblogger. They stated most AU's were fine, and mentioned catlock in their list of possibles so I ran with it. I do hope you enjoy!
> 
> Love and Light  
> ~Diann
> 
> See End Notes for Inspiration for Work.

Sherlock went on holiday for two months, stating that he wanted to go on a journey to visit his old Sifu; that he missed the solitude of the work within the monastery. The silence helped him recalibrate. So, with a very short goodbye to John, he left. Just as the East Wind does. 

Now for Sherlock to leave London, John knew he must still be suffering the lasting effects of all he had endured in the three years he had been gone. As his doctor, his friend, John wouldn’t try to stop him, nor did he want to go where he was not wanted. He felt Sherlock was right and that he needed the time. What was two months in comparison to what they had endured?

John had realised he was in love with Sherlock, really in love with him, on the day he returned to their flat alone. He then held his chin high and buckled down, cleaning and setting things to rights as they had never been, but leaving just enough of Sherlock’s things to remind him. A tea mug on the shared desk. His books still stacked on the far bedside. These things were still there, but now the person was back with them and John was back upstairs, but that was all fine because... Sherlock.

The lanky git had just written him about a few of the students hiking to the Bayankala Mountain Range in the Qinghai Province, and how excited he was to be able to bring back samples from the region. Especially the springs at Jusenkyo. Sherlock had been told they had rarified properties of some sorts. John had just smiled and shook his head. It seemed as though the boysome adventurous heart that beat in Sherlock’s chest was back once again. 

Maybe they stood a chance. 

~~~~

Sherlock was exhausted. He had spoken at length with the elders and trained, seeking the balance for his mind and body that had been so battered while he’d been _away_. John had fainted, then shook him and cried; later punched him. It was all fine, though. The alternative could have been no more John in his life, so Sherlock accepted everything with as much grace as he could, even apologising for the underestimation of how much John was going to grieve. 

He wanted to feel the earth below his toes ground him, the air in his lungs sustain him. 

To be alive. With John. 

That is what mattered most, after all. There was no other absolute in his life other than this singular thought. It gave him purpose, drive. Even more than the thrill of the chase after it’s gone three in the morning; though when you had John Watson at your side, could there be any better moment? Yes, of course there could, but that required Sherlock to be whole so that he could offer himself up to John to do as he would. 

They kept up a weekly correspondence, which made his Sifu smile serenely. His teacher knew that Sherlock had finally opened himself and that he was ready. Sherlock felt as if the cobwebs and latticework scars were non-existent, blown away on the mountain breezes here. It just did not touch him any more. There was only John, his conductor of light and true north, in his very human heart. 

Sherlock followed up the trails and looked upon the pools. Read the signs. They were impossible. He had heard though that some had interesting properties, so he collected samples and stoppered them in tubes carefully for transport. When his brothers challenged him to spar on the posts he did not think twice. When he came up from the water though, he looked like a drowned cat.


	2. Chapter 2

John heard the main door on the ground floor close and Mrs. Hudson coo; must be Sherlock. He stood, placing the crossword down on this small table and went and filled, then set, the kettle before pulling down their mugs. He’d have to call in take-away. _Not Chinese._ Maybe a good hot curry? 

“How was the trip?” He turned around, mugs in hand, to see the man he adored not more than two feet from him. Bit more fit, too. His shirt buttons could be heard screaming from where John was. Not much else had changed... when did it ever? Maybe the warmth in his eyes-

No. 

Maybe.

“Tea?” John handed the steaming cuppa to Sherlock and smiled openly, as he often did.

“Please. People are idiots on planes. Not doing that again. Why didn’t Mycroft just allow me to use Martin’s deathtrap?” 

Sherlock had let go of his luggage at the door and sipped at the tea before sulkily seating himself in his chair, tucking his feet and maneuvering himself to settle. Great cat he was. No one could tell John differently. Finicky, prissy, but at least he enjoyed baths. No litter box- 

John closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head to clear his wandering thoughts. Dinner, yes.

“Curry will be fine, shall I call? Oh, and some sushi too please, from... that one place. Salmon and tuna nigiri, John... three orders?”

Three?!

John dialed and placed orders at both places. “Starved then, are we?”

“Just sounds... palatable is all, John. You are the one always telling me I need to eat more like a normal human.”

“Funny, I was just thinking you were a great cat. This just proves it... shall I warm you a cuppa milk with dinner then?”

Sherlock curled further into his chair and huffed before muttering about stuff and nonsense about how _not_ catlike he was; how the whole of the idea was preposterous... when the salmon would get to them. John just smiled indulgently and scratched Sherlock’s head for a second before darting downstairs and paying for their food. 

~~~~

The detective waited until John finally passed out on his chair before skulking to his room and locking both his door as well as the one to the bath. Then wedged a small chair for good measure. Growling in his throat he undressed efficiently and started the water making sure it was _HOT_ before getting in. How he hated it. The heat. Made his skin prickle at this temperature, but he refused to change it in fear of what would come.

No. 

_It_ did not occur. He was _fine_.

John did not need to know. It was just something he’d have to watch for... no more carelessness near the Thames... Oh, bollocks, he’d have to start carrying an umbrella- WAIT. 

MYCROFT.

Was he possibly? He did- Must find way of testing without being conspicuous.

Thoughts for other times. 

Coming back to himself, Sherlock realised the water was now more warm than hot and that time was of the essence. Scrubbing and lathering and rinsing as quickly as he could, Sherlock finished just before the spray ran tepid. He dried, towel wrapped around his head, then shrugged into his winter robe before padding softly back out to the kitchen. 

The milk was cold. And still good. Sherlock’s eyes lit up as he pulled a small juice glass down and filled it almost to the brim before downing it halfway and refilling it. He placed the milk back into the refrigerator and made his way back into the living area. 

John. What in the bloody blue earth was he going to tell John? 

Sherlock picked up his violin and faced the window, plucking at it after it was settled on his shoulder. He’d have to take the instrument to his room, but it felt so much more open out here; comfortable. He’d never been one to worry about comfort, not since he’s honed his transport, but now he found himself urged to certain areas. Areas that scented heavily of ‘home’ and ‘tea’ and ‘wool’. He was confounded and unwilling to give in to these new urges. Half-snarling to himself, he went back towards his room, leaving his violin once more perched on the shared desk.


	3. Chapter 3

“S’a’ll right there, Sherlock?” The voice ghosted to him as he crossed into the kitchen. 

“Fine, John. You should go to bed. Wouldn’t want your shoulder stiff in the morning.”

If there was a little more warmth to his voice, it wasn’t as if John would notice in his half-sleepy state. He’d been home two days and wrapped in his pyjamas. Sherlock could hear John mentally getting on to him about sulking, but he would feel similar if _he_ had gone through similar. No, he’d be worse. John would see it as a personal affront, even more so that Sherlock did, and might even have locked himself away at the monastery. That would never have done.

“Just. Well, alright.”

“I’m fine-”

“You sure you weren’t ill while gone? Still a bit achy?” 

Sherlock could hear the doctor tone slipping into John’s concerned words. This would not do. No, he was fine and they were fine and nothing occurred during his time away other than what was necessary.

“Fine. John.”

“Nope, you’re not. That... edge in your voice. Look, just- flick the kettle on and sit down.”

“FINE!” 

Sherlock was a hurricane of pent up pissed-offed-ness. How dare John tell him... no order him to do something? It just didn’t do. His hips twitched minutely under his dressing gown as he half-hissingly muttered and slammed mugs and the box of tea on the table before flouncing into one of the chairs and promptly breaking it under his dead weight. He snagged the cord of the kettle as he hit the floor, and the appliance tipped over, pouring the still cold water all over him.

“WHATTHEBLODDYHELLISGOINGON!” 

John exploded and hit the arch hard, shaking the wall as he witnessed Sherlock’s transformation.

“BLOODYHOLYMOTHEROFELDEROUSGOATS!”

Sherlock just spit and hissed and hopped, finally getting clear of the water on the floor before falling limply down and meowing plaintively at his wet state. He looked up, the pale blue eyes icy against the pitch black youthful fur of his cat body. He felt pitiful and knew he was about to be eaten and couldn’t do anything because his claws were still so very small and he was so very thin.

“maaaaoooooommmm” Sherlock tries to explain that it is not his fault.

“Sherlock?!” John went to his knees and picked him up which just started another spitting fit until he realised at once his precarious position and curled up instead letting John’s jumper soak up the wetness from his fur. “Oh, God. Sherlock. This has to be a joke!”

He rubbed against John and tried to purr and give comfort, he himself needing it as well. They both swiveled their heads to the sound of John’s mobile on his table. Several texts it seemed as well. Then his own could be heard in his room. Sherlock bounded out of John’s arms for his mobile as his friend just stood frozen before once again moving to life and rushing for his phone. 

“Yea, um, no. Mycroft?” John sounded wrong. Sherlock couldn’t place the tone, but the _feeling_ of the flat changed and Sherlock found himself needing to be at John’s side to comfort him. Why this drive was there, he had yet to process. 

_John, I’ll comfort you. It’s alright._

Sherlock hopped into John’s overstuffed chair and wove back and forth to get his attention as he listened to his idiot brother on speakerphone.

“John, it is perfectly normal-”

“No! Mycroft. It. Is. Not. Not normal for a person to turn into a... if they get a bit of cold water on them!”

“I’ll need you to calm down, John. I assure you Sherlock is fine. If you would just take him to the shower and turn on the hot taps you would see.”

“He used it all. Just out of a shower... his hair was still a bit damp before. So you _promise_ he’s alright? This isn’t some sort of Baskerville nonsense? Not a hallucination?”

“No, I am afraid not, John. I’ll be round in the morning, then? We’ll have a long chat. Goodnight.”

With that the line went dead and Sherlock mewled again plaintively and touched at John’s arm a few times, misery clear on his face.

“Well, Sherlock, looks like you're a cat for a while then... this is madness...”

John picked him up and curled him into his arms before heading to the airing closet for a towel. The closest room was his, so it made sense that John would choose to sit on the not damp foot of Sherlock’s bed and dry the downy fur that was now covering Sherlock’s form. It felt _marvelous_! He purred as he warmed thankful for John’s resourcefulness and ingenuity. 

~~~~

“So you’re a cat- a kitty- now? When dosed with cold water?” John scratched behind the slightly stuck together damp fur between large not-yet-grown-into-ears. “So, does this mean I get to get you a little collar with a bell? Name plate? At least I’ll know where you are...” 

John spoke to him in quiet tones, seemingly unphased at this point; just accepting. It was... nice. Sherlock yawned, his tongue curling as John made some sort of cooing noise at him ostensibly at his cuteness. The juvenile cat body that was now his was more teen then kitten, but he supposed it was cute even though he wished it regal. Well it was regal... the dark shade of his perfect fur. Even his whiskers were midnight black. 

It would be terribly good for skulking around, Sherlock supposed as he kneaded his front paws and settled comfortably in for a nap. “maaaaaoooom.”

“Ah, you agree then, let’s nap shall we? Only a few hours until Mycroft gets here.” John settled him, towel and all, on his pillow and took to the other side after closing the bedroom door. “Wouldn’t want Mrs. Hudson shooing you out, now would we. Bad that.”

Sherlock’s eyes grew heavy and he drifted, warm and content...

What woke him was the shouty bits. LOUD shouty bits as John would state.

“Mycroft Holmes! How dare you not warn me this sort of thing could have happened! I would have _gone with_ , you damn idiotic fool! Now he’s... well he’s cute... but still! A CAT WHENEVER... how am I supposed to keep him from transforming if all it takes is about three cups of water to change him?!? That’s the size of a pudd-”

“John, please. Yes, I do know the... dangers involved. I’ve just explained that-”

“YES, you have. But a _swan_?! I mean isn’t that a little-”

“Coincidental? Well,” Mycroft looked to the tip of his umbrella and back at John. “Perhaps there are reasons behind such laws and rulings that not _all_ need to be made aware of...”

“You are bloody kidding me. Having me on? The Queen is-”

Mycroft looked down his nose, a very serious expression etched on his face. “One does not speak of Her Majesty in such a way-”

“OH BLOODY PERFECT! The British Government is a SWAN!”

He could hear John fall into his overstuffed chair, laughing so hard there was a slight wheeze to it. Sherlock’s curiosity could not be contained any longer so he hopped off his bed and pranced into the living area. Pouncing on John’s lap, Sherlock sat primly eyes big and blinking at the doctor completely ignoring his brother. He rubbed his nose against John’s callused hand and purred quietly, softly swishing his tail. 

“John, all you need is the shower to change him back; though I can see the advantages to having him remain as he is.”

Sherlock turned quickly and hissed, leaping between John to Mycroft’s lap he rubbed himself all over his brother’s shirt, waistcoat and jacket before he could stand. 

“Sherlock-” He stood not even moving the cat off of his lap. “Petty of you, brother. Sorry John, I must... be off to the Diogenes. Brother, mind your doctor.”

John chuckled as he saw Mycroft out. Sherlock roamed the living area and then the kitchen, his tummy growling. Tummy? Why was he thinking in such terms? Never the less, there must be prey somewhere...

“Here you go, Sherlock.” He was picked up and then deposited on their kitchen table, small squares of ham just in front of his face. “We’ll see to you being changed back after we eat breakfast, then we’ll talk?”


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock came out of his room impeccably dressed. It felt good to be his human self again. 

“Tea, John.” He smiled at hearing his own voice, then stopped. “Please.”

“Already at your chair. Biscuits too.” 

“No cold cuts from the butcher?”

“You _liked_ the ham. It was not raw. Now stop it.” John’s smile could clearly be heard behind his paper. “You’re just upset that I got you to eat two meals in a row without a fuss.”

“Not on a case, John.”

“You still have terrible eating habits. Anything on?”

Sherlock has been browsing his email and was, as per usual, supremely unimpressed. There was nothing to challenge him. Adulterers, thieves, a random oddity quickly dealt with mentally. He needed something to get his mind off of sitting in John’s lap. Curling up into the heat of-

“Lestrade.”

“Yes, what of him?”

“A case, John.” He huffed, most certainly not thinking about callused fingers in his hair. “I _need_ a case!”

“Watch it, Sherlock.”

“I- need some air.” A walk far away from the flat and John and his bloody intoxicating scent of home; that would settle his mind. Sherlock thought about which routes he needed to reaffirm in his mental map then stood and settled his coat around himself. “Laters.”

His feet hit the pavement and he put his mind to sorting all of the new information he had acquired since being home. Not quite three days, and his mind palace was out of sorts and John touched everything within it. There were the impulses Sherlock knew he couldn’t ignore for very much longer, the ones he’d had and accepted. The ones tied to the abiding warmth that was John Watson; the constant. The north star. His polaris. 

Now, there were all of these _other_ feelings. Belonging, home, submission to a degree; caring and wants that were different from human, but seemed just as important. It was a jumble of all-sorts that needed to get worked through. 

Sherlock knew, he knew he had fallen for John. This was accepted and he had found himself pleased. Even if John never reciprocated, Sherlock had been content. Could still be, but now John’s hands hand been on him. On his body. In his fur. Those clever fingers sparked warmth in very human parts of him as he recalled his sense-memory. Even though as a cat they felt pleasurable in a companionable sense, as his normal self he found a heat building low in his body that had everything to do petting of another sort.

~~~~

John sighed to himself, folding then placing his paper aside his half-drank tea.

His flatmate was a cat. A very sweet, very loveable cat. When he _was_ actually a cat, not when he was a human acting a cat. John shook his head at the enormity of it all. Well, he supposed he should deal with some practicalities of said possibility. He needed a collar, that was certain. Wouldn’t do for him to be stolen or picked up... the thought made John shiver. No, a collar, water dish, maybe something Sherlock could tear into that wasn’t furniture. 

And his brother? A swan. 

The bastard had know about the possibility of this happening to his brother and had said nothing. Not even Sherlock had known until this morning. Mycroft was not earning any points towards John’s good side, that was certain. The chuckle that bubbled up at the thought of the man being doused and becoming all feathered and squocky... knowing Mycroft he’d be just as dangerous.

_Yes, well the shopping wasn’t going to do itself._

In the end, John trudged up the steps with various bags, including actual food for their flat. Fresh meats and veg, whole milk, eggs... they were both going to eat better. John always prefered fresh, but after Sherlock’s inhalation of sushi- well it would be better on their pocketbooks to do eating-in. Unpacking the ricecooker, he set the instructions aside. The pressure cooker? He’d put it out of sight; who knows what kind of trouble Sherlock would get into with the appliance. 

That all settled, he flicked on the kettle and set to unpacking the few... pet items. It bothered him to think of them that way, but at least he bought higher end. The water dish was a good high polished stainless and the collar was a beautiful dark blue leather with nameplate bolted, so no hangy-bits to get stuck. He just hoped Sherlock would not mind the name he had chose. The other side of the plate contained John’s information. It seemed best.

_It wouldn’t have done to use his actual name would it?_

Then the bell rang.

Mrs. Hudson was home so she answered. A soft laugh later and two men with a large cats climbing rig came into their parlor. John just sighed and pointed over by the window over to the left of their desk. Yes, it was ‘his’ side, but Sherlock’s contained his stand and violin case and these things needed room. At least it was nice and a sort of blended into their menagerie of accumulated things. Sherlock would be livid with his brother, but John bet he would be thankful if he were to get stuck in kitty-mode alone to have something to explore.

“So what’s this then?” She’d come up with tea.

She left tittering and sworn to absolute silence. Well at least she hadn’t demanded a litter box to be procured or extra for their rent. Mrs. Hudson always amazed John. Was there nothing the woman would not allow for the two of them? 

Around dusk, John texted that he was starting dinner and hoped for Sherlock to be home soon promising cookies and hot chocolate if he turned up before John went to bed. Good way to lure him most days. Man had a sweet tooth a mile long; whether he would admit it was another thing altogether. Things cubed and chopped, into the hearth broth they went as the rice cooked. Garlic and herbs filled the air, so much better than the harsh chemicals that were the norm. John found himself hoping Sherlock would find it a pleasing change.

He set the table, well the desk, at their usual spots and decided on some wine. John wasn’t certain if he’d be eating alone, but even if he was, he knew that Sherlock would know that he had thought of him and for some reason, that seemed the most important thing of all.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock took the steps quickly back up to the flat. He’d taken a cab home, only ten minutes that way. Now, though, he felt full of nervous energy, as if he wanted to pounce on John and tell him everything all at once. Most certainly the ‘cat’ in him. Sherlock was able to hang his coat and great John with a nod and sit at the place John had sat for him. His transport was under his control, it was his first and foremost. 

He smiled as John poured their wine, he himself just sitting. 

“What, John? What is that?”

“Um, a climbing frame for cats.” He smiled indulgently. “From your brother.”

“No, I know what _that_ is, I meant the box-”

“Gift. Picked it out today. I was out, at the shops, um. Thought, well.” John bit his lip, his face colouring as he took a sip of his wine. “I didn’t want- just open it?”

His hands felt heavy as he picked up the rectangular box. Jewelry? But why? He didn’t wear any often and it was not his birthday, nor were they romantic? Not that he didn’t wish it at this point. The box was very finely made, as was the velvet one it held. Cracking the hinges, Sherlock smiled.

“A... collar? For- well for me?” He gave the name a cursory glance, but flipped it and smiled widely. “John, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Oh, shut it you posh git!” 

John’s laughter was bright as he bumped Sherlock’s shoulder. He had to. He knew it; felt it. The pull. Sherlock leaned just so and caught John’s wine tart lips with his own. Just a brush of warmth and thanks. The things he wanted to say on the verge of spilling out and ruining the moment.

“I just, I’ll go put it... wait-” He bit at his lips to stop the smile as he clasped it around his wrist. 

“You didn’t even read it!” John laughed again, more of a giggle this time. “You’ve a name you know... I well, named you, sort of. Today. They needed one and well-”

“John, I just kissed you and you are on about ‘pet names’?” 

Sherlock joined in on the chuckle and before they knew it they were finishing John’s home-cooked meal and settling on the couch with what was left of the second bottle of wine. Three glasses each was not much, not over a meal. What had changed them? Was it that cursed pool that finally drew them to this moment? The closeness was tangible, but not overbearing. They had all the time in the world it seemed. 

He found himself, much later, looking towards the North star, hopeful for just that.

**Author's Note:**

> Ranma 1/2 is one of my all time favourite anime/mangas. If you have not had a chance to explore the world, please google! It is so much fun!
> 
> I do plan on playing in this verse off and on. Who wouldn't love to see Mycroft as a Swan?


End file.
